Merited Deceit
by Kendra Luehr
Summary: When Will Graham discovers that Abigail Hobbs faked her death, he shows up unexpectedly at her doorstep.


"Merited Deceit"

"You weren't supposed to find me."

Will peered through the thin slat the door allowed, his heart swelling to a painful crescendo as he gazed back into the deep, luminous blue eyes that had long since haunted him. "Perhaps not," he softly agreed, "but the trail led directly to your doorstep. That money from your book had to go _somewhere,_ and when I realized it wasn't just going to charities as planned, I decided to dig a bit deeper."

Abigail's spine grew rigid, her knuckles shaking as she gripped the doorframe more tightly. "For what reason? I don't want any reminders of my old life, Will. I'm finally happy. I'm finally in _control."_

"Are you truly in control with _him_ roaming the streets?"

In a fury, Abigail moved to close the door, but Will quickly intervened, pushing in so that her flat-bottomed shoes slid across the hardwood flooring.

"I wanted to see you," he tried again. And that was the truth. He wanted to see her. Wanted to make sure she was okay. He just wanted her to talk to him. "That's all."

Abigail felt a sickness inside of her. "I don't believe you," she hissed.

All her life, no one had ever just _wanted_ to see her – to know and care for the girl behind the stoic mask. There had always been an ulterior motive. With her father, he had claimed to "just love her so much" that he needed to hurt people, and with Hannibal, he had "merely been curious"… So curious that she was now the remnant of a social experiment gone awry. And despite Will's disarming exterior, Abigail knew what kind of monsters lurked behind kind faces. She had once thought Hannibal had kind eyes, too. Now she couldn't believe she'd never realized how empty and soulless they were.

"You may want to see me," Abigail finally managed, "but _I_ don't want to see you. I think you're missing the whole point of faking my death – I'm supposed to be _dead."_

Will appeared plaintive. "I'm here because I want to be here for you." It was a small protest. Nothing to press her. What he wanted most from her was acceptance, willingness to allow him in her life. He waited a moment before continuing, "I'll keep your secret."

Will's response ignited a spark in Abigail, and it was suddenly as if her very eyes were blazing torches. "You want to be _here_ for me?" she growled. "You weren't there when I needed you most – you can't just choose when to be involved in my life!" She huffed, painfully unamused. "It's clear to me that _no one_ I know can keep a secret. After Freddie bribed everyone involved to let her write that I'd died at the hospital, she helped me put my book together, sell it 'posthumously,' and then make a small fortune." She sneered. "I guess she got sloppy since _you_ found me. Who else knows?"

"Just me," Will quickly assured her. "I swear to you, Abigail, I just wanted to see if you were happy here…as far as the rest of the world is concerned, you're still dead."

Abigail's eyes welled up with tears. "You never cared this much before…I went for _twelve weeks_ in Hannibal's basement, and you never _once_ thought to come look for me. I could hear your voice sometimes, and I wanted to call out to you, but I _knew_ what would happen if I did. And when the weeks turned into months, I realized that you must've forgotten about me."

"Abigail, that's not fair. Hannibal had me believe I'd _killed_ you. The evidence was so compelling that-"

"You _left_ me with him!" She was shaking now, the tears falling freely and seeping into the smooth, silken collar of her blouse. "Do you have any idea what that's like? Do you know how _miserable_ it is to be passed off from one psychopath to the other?! All I wanted was to be free, Will…to be my _own person._ And at one point, an agent came downstairs – a woman – and for the briefest of moments, I thought I finally had my chance!" She laughed bitterly. "Not only did I have to watch that agent die, but Hannibal made me help by draining her blood. Do you know how that feels, Will? To be forced to destroy the _one_ person who could've helped me?"

Will swallowed the lump in his throat. "I'm sorry, Abigail… I'm so sorry I wasn't there for you. Vengeance blinded me, and I just…wasn't thinking."

Lurching forward in a rage, Abigail curled her fists and struck the neighboring wall. A lamp rattled on a nearby table, disturbed, but no more unsettled than her very person.

"They said I died on the operating table…" Abigail turned her large, wounded eyes to him. "It's all like a sick joke… Why am I even _here?"_ She gave a shrill, manic laugh, then brushed the hair back from her eyes while shaking her head. "I'm just so tired, Will… Tired of being told what to do, how to act, and who to trust! I want to make my _own_ decisions! I don't want to be some fucking puppet!"

Again Abigail grew violent, but this time she shoved the lamp onto the floor with a loud, resounding crash. She was instilled with a vindictive delight in seeing that shattered glass – seeing how _she_ had destroyed it and that _she_ had been the one to decide to break the lamp. _She_ did! Nobody else!

Will remained remarkably calm during this exchange. Throughout Abigail's tantrum, he couldn't help but recall how he'd lost her – of how he'd _mourned_ her and laid bright, hand-picked flowers on her grave. Each day, he would come by and confess the things to her that in life he'd been unable. He'd repeatedly begged for her forgiveness and revealed how deeply she'd wormed her way into his heart. It was during that difficult, trying time that Will realized he loved Abigail.

How ironic, he'd thought. He was _always_ learning his true feelings far too late. But now she was here – _alive_ – and not disappearing when he opened and closed his eyes. She was beautifully, wonderfully _real._

"Shh," Will soothed, but that only seemed to make Abigail angrier.

Stalking toward him, Abigail reached out and gave Will a none-too-gentle shove. She thrilled in the look on his face – that pitiful "you just kicked a puppy" expression – and pushed him yet again. "This is your fault," she seethed. "You're the _only_ one who could've found me, but you chose not to…you're just…you're just a _coward!"_

Abigail flailed against him then with her tiny fists, striking weakly until a soft, pitiful sob lodged its way in her throat. She gripped at Will's jacket and sank against his chest, allowing a muffled, frustrated scream to resound against his shirt.

Throughout her outburst Will remained still. He _knew_ that he didn't have the ability to hold her and erase all the hurt. The memories were dark stains, smeared prints of blood and screams over her insides. He wanted to wipe them all away. But he understood that she wasn't going to allow him to do that. Not now. He wanted to be there for her. And the most that he could do was stand still.

And then she was screaming again, muffled by the pressing of her face into his chest. It felt like a jolt to his heart. No longer willing to be impartial to her pain, Will lifted his hands and lightly cupped the back of Abigail's head, encouraging her to pull away so that he could frame her tear-stained face with his trembling hands. She sniffled and Will looked deep into her eyes. He felt shaken not only by her anger, but by the look in her molten gaze. A storm of tears and dark things, infested by the madness they had both walked in swirled back at him. They were wounded. But she was alive again, and he wanted to save her in this life in the way he'd failed to in the past.

"Let me go," Abigail pleaded, though her voice lacked conviction. Will continued to grasp her cheeks and she shivered, hating how without his calming grip she felt unstable – _hating_ that she might need someone who'd caused her nothing but pain.

Finally, she told him, "You wouldn't care about me if you hadn't killed my dad… If he'd been shot by another agent, you wouldn't even be here right now." Her eyes hardened. "You _know_ it's true."

Just saying the words brought a bone-chilling loneliness to her spine. Abigail had been accustomed to solitude even when her parents were alive, but it genuinely hurt to know someone cared for all the wrong reasons. She wasn't a charity case – she didn't need anyone else's pity!

"That isn't true, Abigail," Will said, but his tone was weak and broken. Cracked in between each word. Perhaps there was truth in her accusation. He had come there feeling an obligation to her, feeling a need to protect her because of what he had taken away. Will knew that he had sat there by her bedside, thinking how he could have saved her over and over again – something that wouldn't have landed her in that coma, something that would have not let him kill Hobbs. But he knew that was pointless.

"I care about you," Will tried again. "Regardless of what happened that afternoon, I care…" _Perhaps he even cared too much._ "I'm not lying to you, Abigail," he continued. "You're all I ever think about…" Will wasn't looking at her as the confession came tumbling out. He wanted to reach for her again but he didn't, afraid of recoil. "This can be the last time if you don't want me to come around anymore." But he knew he wouldn't be able to give her up so simply. She was ingrained in him.

By this point, Abigail was too mentally fatigued to argue. She gripped at her own elbows while she sniveled, tears spilling into her mouth as she shivered and shook. Will cared. She'd known it ever since that night…that horrible, _monstrous_ night where everything had faded to black and left her teetering on the edge of darkness. All she could truly remember was Hannibal jerking her back against his strong, broad chest, and then perching a linoleum knife beneath her chin. It was smeared with Will's intestinal blood – it was _stained_ with his essence – and then Hannibal had split her throat open like a ripe peach and created a sudden, unwanted blood bond between his two protégés. She was the sacrifice. Hannibal wouldn't have given a damn if she'd died – _he'd just wanted to prove a fucking point._

And then there was Will. Even when faced with certain death, he'd removed his hands from his own wound in favor of staunching her own. He didn't need to do that – he didn't _have_ to save her out of obligation that time, but he did. Abigail simultaneously resented and loved him for it, but she'd never understood her emotions – never wanted to _face_ them, and now she was being _forced_ to with Will standing there silently begging with his eyes. It was so much easier to hate him. So much easier to _blame_ him for everything that had happened, regardless of the warm, flooding heat that now stained her cheeks in his presence.

Unnerved by the silence, Will weakly tried again, "I just want to be here for you, Abigail. When I said you were important to me, I…I meant it."

She swallowed back tears and raised her chin. "Then…if I allow it, you'll always be in my life?"

"Always."

Will's hands suddenly framed her face again, but this time Abigail didn't fight against his attempts at closeness. With her eyes fluttering shut, she gripped at his arms and lifted her mouth, her breath hitching as his lips hesitantly brushed against hers. When Will didn't sense a sign of retreat, he eagerly pushed forward, crashing his lips into hers as she clung to his sturdy frame. His fingers knotted through her styled hair and he _tugged,_ desperate to feel her in every capacity.

With a soft moan, Abigail shrugged out of her silk blazer and allowed it to drop to the floor. Will's hands skimmed her curves until he grasped her hips, their mouths meeting fiercely as he lifted her into his arms and pressed her harshly against the wall. With her soft, delicate cries fueling his touch, Will dropped his lips to her neck as she took him by the wrist and forced his hand between her legs.

"Are…are you sure?" he gasped out.

She nodded. She'd never been more certain of anything in her life.

* * *

Will drifted down in her arms and Abigail tried to catch her breath, nuzzling into him as she lifted her legs and wrapped them around him in an attempt at prolonging their intimacy. Almost shy now, she kissed him softly on the mouth before drifting her lips down over his chin and toward the pulse on his throat. She felt warm and sated and safe, and filled with such a thrilling longing that it frightened her.

Gently rolling them over onto their sides, Abigail smiled up at Will and placed her hand on the curve of his cheek, drifting her fingers downward as she teased, "You know, I never really got to look at you… Before I even had the chance, you just pinned me down and had your way with me." _No complaints there._

Pressing a kiss against his forehead, she asked, "Will you let me look?" The afterglow had not yet faded, and Abigail felt slightly giddy as she curled up there in his arms. An "I love you" seemed far too cliché in that moment, and though Abigail Hobbs was _not_ a cliché, she knew something had definitely changed between them.

Will laid half tangled in the sheets and half out, the thin cloth resting just below his navel as he flashed her a shy, boyish smile. With his arm wrapped possessively around Abigail's waist, he brushed his lips against her throat and chuckled against her skin. "Look at me? What do you mean?"

"Y'know," Abigail struggled to explain. "Look _at_ you."

The room was darker now, the two of them fully hidden within the shadows of the setting sun. Lying there in the dark, it was easy to forget that they were both broken – that the fragile, tenuous glue holding them together was frayed in certain places, threatening to give out and leave them torn asunder. And despite the small consolation of being hidden, Will suddenly felt self-conscious there beneath her roving gaze, his scar feeling as if it were burning brightly beneath her touch.

Will's response to her request had not been what Abigail expected. Her smile faded slightly and her palm cupped the side of his face, stroking the curve of his mouth with a hesitant, explorative thumb. She wanted to tell him he didn't need to hide from her…that she'd already seen the ugliest parts, and how little all of that mattered. But rather than bare her soul so completely, Abigail instead drifted her fingers down from his cheek to his shoulder, skimming her calm, feather-light touch over the curve of his bicep as she hesitantly reached out her other hand, soft and gentle, to rest over his pounding heart. Lowering down to his chest, Abigail opened her mouth against his skin and pressed a kiss there, pausing a moment before drifting her lips further downward. Every so often her tongue would dart out to taste him, lingering a bit before her shy exploration continued. This was what she wanted… Perhaps Will didn't understand, but she wanted to know him – _all_ of him.

When Abigail reached his scar, she nuzzled into the damaged skin, brushing her lips against the uneven tissue with a soft sigh. Placing her mouth at the furthermost edge, she kissed her way across the jagged slice and leaned into him, now turning to press her cheek against his stomach. She laid there silently then, eyes stinging as she reached for his hand. She hoped he wouldn't be angry with her… It was apparent that he was self-conscious in that moment, but Abigail didn't want him to be ashamed. She'd been there in that kitchen…she'd been marked by that same knife too.

Will gripped back at her hand just as tightly. His eyelids grew heavy as she further caressed his skin. In that moment, he felt warm and _loved,_ and it was such a foreign feeling that tears threatened his eyes. Abigail erased the pain and the ugliness – she made him feel empowered in the healthiest of ways. He didn't know what he'd do without her.

"Will?"

He opened his eyes again, only to jerk when he realized that the soft, hazy light and constant, obnoxious beeping were _not_ from Abigail's bedroom.

"Mr. Graham?"

He jolted yet again, turning his head before spotting a nurse standing over his side. Abigail was gone. "Are you…? Is Abigail…?"

"Shh," she soothed, "you just lie back now and try and relax. You've been in a medically induced coma for at least a week."

"But Abigail, she-"

"That's not my place to say."

Will's lips tensed and his chin trembled, his eyes burning with unshed tears as he promptly looked away. He knew what that meant. He wasn't _stupid._ His beautiful, gentle Abigail had only been in his dreams…she wasn't alive somewhere in another country, and she hadn't forgiven him for all the sins he'd committed. But above all, she didn't _love_ him, and that somehow hurt more deeply than anything else.

"I'll go get the doctor," the nurse informed him.

Will didn't reply, though the minute she left the room, he held his hands over his face and screamed. No longer would he be the victim – no _longer_ would he be the pawn. When he finally found Hannibal Lecter, he would bring him the justice he deserved. That, Will decided, was the best way he could honor Abigail in the way he'd failed to in life.

 **A/N** **:** This was inspired by the S3 promo released showing footage of Abigail (but obviously has very little to do with the snippet presented). Seeing Abigail all dolled up and in nice clothing made me think, "Well, what if she survived, got some money from her book, and then went on to make a life for herself?" So this is more or less the result (but the ending took a diversion back to what's more than likely going to happen on the show. I just have no hope at this point, given all the BTS pics released). I hope you enjoyed, regardless! :)


End file.
